I do now own any characters from Neverwinter Nights 2, except for my own character Isolde. Written as a response to a writing prompt from a Tumblr user. Rated T just to be safe. Please let me know what you think!
Isolde had been sitting upon the wall of the Keep when she heard Sand's voice near her. "How long have you been out here?" She turned her head to the direction of the sound, her green dragon eyes seeking him through the darkness.
"…Not very long," she fibbed, keeping her eyes trained on the area right next to his face.
Sand frowned right away. She knew he could smell it was a lie. He had the best nose of anyone she'd ever met and he wasn't going to be fooled so easily. "And Khelgar dresses in drag. If you're going to lie, girl, at least make it an amusing one," he drawled as he crossed his arms and tilted his head. "Now how long have you really been out here? Seeking counsel from the stars, are you?"
There was no fooling this elf. "I might've been out here a little longer than that, then." It was the truth this time - even if she was staying evasive.
But what was she supposed to say? That the creeping dread of building responsibility looming over her kept her awake at night? That she felt she was incompetent for what was expected of her? That thoughts of failure and death and the constant anxiety chased away the sleep?
No, she would never admit to any of that. Not aloud, ever. If everyone knew how weak she really was, how easy it was to topple the tower with just one misplaced brick at the foundation… no. Never show weakness.
"Hm," grunted Sand. He did not look satisfied with her answer but at least he didn't pry. "Very well then. Would you prefer some company instead? I fear the loud snoring in my neighbor's quarters do not fall lightly on elven ears," he grumbled with distaste.
"You know we have somewhere to be tomorrow morning. If you don't sleep tonight, you won't be able to nap during the daytime."
"Neither will you," Sand smugly pointed out. "And, I might say, you would need the rest more than I. Elves can function on less hours of sleep than the average human. Or human-dragon hybrid. Now, are you going to accept my offer or are we going to continue fruitlessly arguing the sleeping requirements of our respective kinds?"
Isolde's nostrils flared with frustration. Sand always got the last word in and it irritated her to no end, especially when he was right. Nonetheless, she patted a spot on the stone beside her. He took a seat and opened up the book he was holding. The soft sound of the flipping of pages filled the brief silence that was steadily making Isolde uncomfortable.
She had to say something to interrupt the break in conversation. "Why are you up here?" It was better than peering at the depths below the wall and kicking her dangling feet to occupy herself.
Without looking up from the book, the wizard replied contemplatively, "the best light is out here, closer to the moon and the stars. Candlelight has a tendency to strain the eyes."
"Um. Yes. Candlelight… it… strains the eyes."
He did not reply to this, and she did not blame him. Normally being so at ease with speaking, this was a rather awkward moment for her. On the usual day she would casually flirt and tease and trade barbed witticisms with him to pass the time, but right now she had about the same socializing range of Casavir.
Sand seemed to have found his spot in the book. Cicadas chirped softly in the distance. From a ways away in the stable, a horse nickered. And inside of Isolde's mind she began to drown within the self-doubt and sinking thoughts of despair.
Shadow reavers. Reforging the silver sword. Defeating the King of Shadows. Keeping her friends alive. Dispelling the shadows from the land. Defending the keep. Making sure the troops are prepared. Finding the person blessed with the last ritual of purification. Maintaining her sanity all the while. How long will she live? How much longer before someone else she loves dies or goes missing? Who would be next in line, and would it simply be because of their association with her? Who would die just for knowing her? It would be her fault. It would all be her fault. Especially if she failed. If she failed, she would die, if she died, Faerun would be in danger of being swallowed up in darkness, and -
"Would you mind controlling your tail, please?" hissed Sand from next to her. "That blasted appendage has been hitting me for the past minute and if you are not trying to push me off on purpose, I would be ever so grateful if it could stop."
Isolde replied with elocution fit for a woman of her status, "nffghhrghn." Time to stop dwelling on those thoughts - if only she knew how. Best she could do until then was hold onto her tail.
The elf was about to go back to reading until he noticed her expression; blank, lost, and with a hint of horror. And she positively reeked of damaged confidence. She usually did these days but he knew better than to point it out, lest he wanted the outrage of an emotional dragon on his hands. And that's something he didn't quite think he had the capacity to handle.
Better address this delicately. "Dear Isolde, you look awful." Expertly put.
"Do I?" she moaned. "It's probably the night air." She rubbed the back of her neck and kept staring out into the distance. "You know. Sometimes it just… gets to you."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. The scent of her aura was getting to him, not the night air. The bard was a lot more troubled than she was letting on, but her pride prevented her from talking about it, he was sure. But bottling up one's emotions was just about as healthy as violently shaking a sealed beaker alchemists's fire, and it could result in something equally as explosive. "What did I just say about lying, Isolde?"
"If you're going to lie, girl, at least make it an amusing one," she intoned, mimicking his voice seamlessly down to the ever-present confident purr. It was quite an unnerving hobby of hers to practice, as she could imitate the voice of each of her companions by now. But that did not matter for the moment.
She shook her head. "Oh, Sand. I just… get worried. One bad thought gets in my head, then another one comes along behind it. And before I know it, my mind is full of bad thoughts and I don't know what to do with each of them. I can't control this and I'm starting to think it'll get the best of me one day. …You know? I won't be able to hold them all and I'll just explode or something."
Explosions. Fire. Dragons breathe fire, and that would make his time in Crossroad Keep decidedly bad. As long as he kept her calm and happy, he would have a better quality of life living in the Keep, unburnt and as healthy as an elf his age could be. After all, he'd prefer to live a few more centuries, thank you very much.
"Now, now," Sand coaxed soothingly. "Let's think positive. Perhaps tomorrow we'll get eaten by something large and hideous, and then you'll be able to sort the real issues from the ones that have less priority. That won't be so bad, would it?"
"Way to think positive!" She buried her head between her knees and wrapped her wings around her. With the same intensity as before, her tail twitched and fought to break free of her hold.
Now he'd done it. With a sigh, he set down his book and tried to figure out a way to console her. By the nine hells, what made Lord Nasher think that making him join forces with a dragon was a good idea?
Sand did not need to think for long before Isolde peeked up at him from between her knees. The whites of her sleepless eyes were rimmed with red and complimented with dark bags under those green orbs. Beautiful. "Do you think there's any hope?"
"Hope? Hrnn. Hope… yes. I believe there is. Or there could be, as long as we—" he found his sentence interrupted as Isolde lunged at him. Perhaps he screamed. Just a little. Maybe more than that. But he stopped as soon as he found… she was hugging him? "Isolde, this is hardly—"
"I'm sorry," she apologized in a squeak that any dragon would find demeaning and shameful. "I just…" sheepishly, she pulled away, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Damnation, girl," he swore. Another move like that and he might have a heart attack. However, it would probably be a much more peaceful death than the one awaiting him one of these days, he was certain. "Was a hug all you wanted?"
With a pathetic sniff, she nodded. Isolde would positively hate herself if she cried in front of anyone, and she was not about to start now. She'd rather eat Grobnar's toenail clippings.
"Very well then," he sighed as he opened his arms for her. Isolde wrapped her arms (and her wings) around the wizard in a far gentler hug than before, burying her face in his neck. She quietly snuffled and Sand patiently held her, patting her back in a soothing manner. "There, there. Things will get better in the morning, I'm sure."
"I hope so," she mumbled into his neck. Her breath was very warm and it made Sand uncomfortable, but still he held on reassuringly. "I'm so glad you're around."
Sand couldn't help it. He smiled. "I have my moments," he said with a modesty he knew in his heart he didn't actually have. "Now let's get you to sleep. We can't have you falling asleep while we get torn limb from limb by orcs tomorrow."
Bad word choice - her hug tightened to a vice-like embrace. I'll definitely have to work on my technique in the future, he mused to himself as he tried to squirm away. "That's… that's enough for now. Come on. There we go." Next time he'll choose a better spot for this kind of thing, preferably somewhere they couldn't both plunge to their deaths.